


Surprise Party!

by SatuD2



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Gen, Party, Presents, Redemption, Surprise Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 16:21:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8585443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatuD2/pseuds/SatuD2
Summary: Piccolo, the reincarnated Demon King, is still getting used to not being evil anymore. He is, however, not interested in parties and is not sure why Gohan is so insistent that he is going to get along with these people.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this is set during the Android Saga. I want to say a huge thank you to Tafferling, commanderAIK and Pretty_Ok for looking over this fic for me and making sure it was okay to post :D
> 
> Also shout out to commanderAIK for giving me the idea for a party during the Android Saga and to TFS for giving me the idea for some of the dialogue (indirectly). Props!!

The sun was just beginning to set, the western sky glowing the deep orange of a furnace, tinting the sparse clouds various shades of delicate pink. The air was cooling significantly, the temperature dropping with the sun. Heading south through the chilly air were three people, flying in an inverted V.

Piccolo, the one hanging back, rolled his eyes and crossed his arms tightly across his chest. Goku and Gohan were sharing conspiratorial glances and sniggering behind their hands. They clearly thought they were being very subtle. But Saiyans didn’t seem to have a subtle bone in their body.

Gohan must have caught the Namekian’s glare because he grinned that infamous Son grin and said, “We’re almost there, Piccolo.”

Piccolo gritted his teeth, trying not to snap at the half-Saiyan. It was just as obvious where they were going as it was that they were concealing something from him. He did  _ not _ want to go to Capsule Corporation. The blue haired human woman was shrill and irritating at the best of times and was well known (even to a reclusive Namekian like himself) for her enthusiastic parties.

He was not interested in parties. He was not interested in socialising. He was not interested in standing in a room surrounded by his former enemies and watching them stare and murmur and avoid him. He didn’t know why Gohan was so insistent that he was going to get along with these people.

His furious gaze softened ever so slightly as he looked at the small half-Saiyan. The boy was almost eight years old now. His muscles were strong and his moves were sure and confident. Piccolo liked to think, in a small quiet part of his mind, that he’d had something to do with that. That his harsh training in the wilderness during the boy’s formative years had built up a steely confidence at Gohan’s core.

He had remained close to Gohan after their return from Namek. He supposed that sacrificing his life for the boy had been his first real step away from the vengeful Demon King he had been reincarnated to be. After being revived and brought to Earth he had tried to retreat again, back to how life had been before Son Goku’s older brother and the threat of the Saiyans. Gohan, however, had not allowed him to. He had sought the Namekian out, finding his secure meditation places and interfering. Piccolo had snapped and snarled and shouted, trying to drive the boy away, but nothing had worked. Gohan had eventually started sitting quietly, doing his homework by the river or copying his meditative position and waiting until Piccolo had softened sufficiently to join him and talk. The Namekian had been glad, in the end, that the boy hadn’t given up. He hadn’t realised how lonely his previous life had been.

He was startled out of his reflection by his companions descending sharply towards the complex of domed buildings that made up Capsule Corp. He remained stationary in the air, his arms crossed tightly and his eyes narrowed. He could feel the ki of both Bulma and Chichi there, but no one else’s.

He descended slowly, irritation itching at his skin, making sure it showed in every line of his body and the set of his face. Goku was not paying any attention, grinning and heading for the door, but Gohan hung back, looking up at his mentor with the first hints of anxiety in his eyes. “C’mon, Piccolo, it’ll be okay, I promise.”

Piccolo hissed through his teeth, but dropped his arms and followed the young half-Saiyan to the front door. Goku was still wearing his stupid affable grin and opened the door without knocking. Piccolo followed him in and flinched backwards as the lights flicked on and a chorus of, “Surprise!” erupted from those in the room.

He stood in the doorway, his teeth bared in an involuntary snarl, his hands curled into tight fists, as everyone stared at him, their arms raised, a single popper going off to send fragile streamers through air that was suddenly thick with tension.

Piccolo’s eyes met Gohan’s and saw the plea there.  _ Please don’t hurt them _ , those dark eyes said.  _ Please don’t freak out. They’re just trying to be friendly _ .

With a great deal of effort he relaxed his tense muscles, his shoulders lowering and his hands opening. He did not, however, relax his face, keeping the stern glare and hard set to his jaw.

A quick glance around the room confirmed that most of the usual suspects were present. Goku, having brought Piccolo here and fulfilled his side of the bargain, was already at the buffet table, stacking a tiny paper plate high with finger foods. Krillin and Yamcha were positioned at the front of the group, almost defensively, while Bulma, Chichi, Master Roshi, Puar and even the ancient Sea Turtle were poking their heads up from behind the couch.

Gohan approached the couch, his hands up and his smile placating. “Guys, I told you not to do a full on surprise.”

“But it’s a surprise party, Gohan,” Bulma said.

“Yes, but remember how I said it probably wasn’t the best idea? Because…you know… Namekian startle reflexes…?”

Piccolo’s ears twitched and he cursed silently under his breath. Krillin, ever the trusting fool, came up and raised one hand, a welcoming smile on his face.

“Sorry for startling you, Piccolo,” he said. “We just really wanted it to be a…well, a surprise!”

“Hmph.” Piccolo turned his gaze so it met the short human’s, feeling a little surge of triumph as a spark of fear flashed in his eyes. He turned to completely face the former monk, squaring his shoulders and enjoying how much larger he seemed than the short (even by human standards) man. “A surprise for what?”

Krillin blinked up at the Namekian, incomprehension in his eyes, then his face split into a wide grin and he said, “For becoming a good guy, of course!”

Piccolo was briefly stunned, unable to think of anything to say, before he repeated in a low, dumbfounded voice, “A good guy?”

“Yeah!” Krillin enthused. “One of us! One of the team!”

A detached sort of rage swept through Piccolo’s body, almost paralysing him with its potency. Then he caught Gohan’s eye over Krillin’s shoulder and let out a low sigh. Silently agreeing to the boy’s request ( _ Please don’t freak out! _ ), he reached out and awkwardly shook the former monk’s hand.

Krillin grinned and Piccolo noted the relief in his stance, the caution in his grip. Before he could do or say anything else Gohan took charge. “Okay, guys, that’s the surprise done! Hey, Bulma, this food looks fantastic, where did you get it?”

Appropriately distracted, the small group dispersed, leaving Piccolo alone. It seemed that his less than joyful reaction to their surprise had inspired the rest of them to leave him for the time being. He walked further into the room, knowing Gohan would be hurt if he left, and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms tight and hopefully exuding the right level of barely restrained violence to keep the others at bay.

The door opened and Tien and Chiaotzu, the only members who had been missing previously, entered, shedding thick jackets and scarves and leaving them in still snow-speckled piles beside the door.

“You two are late!” Bulma scolded, starting towards them and shaking her finger.

“Sorry about that,” Tien said. He didn’t look very sorry. The triclops surveyed the room, taking in the trampled contents of a single popper in the middle of the carpet, the Saiyans hogging the buffet table, the humans hanging by the couch and briefly making eye contact with Piccolo where he leaned against the wall.

“But this whole thing was your idea!” Bulma threw her hands up in the air, exasperated. “You missed the surprise!”

Tien and Chiaotzu exchanged a brief glance. Piccolo could almost see the psychic link between them.

“You didn’t really do the surprise thing, did you, Bulma?” Tien asked. “We said it would work better if it wasn’t a surprise…”

“That’s because you guys suck at parties,” Bulma said dismissively. “Come in, come in! There’s more food coming for after the Saiyans have destroyed this lot!”

“So, Bulma, where’s Vegeta?” Chiaotzu asked innocently. Bulma rolled her eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh.

“He’s gone off to train or something, I don’t know. We don’t need him here anyway! He’s a downer at parties!”

Tien and Chiaotzu exchanged another glance, the brief spark of telepathy passing between them. Piccolo’s eyes narrowed as they shrugged simultaneously and moved forward into the room. Krillin caught Chiaotzu by the arm as they passed and pulled him into a conversation. Tien, showing no interest in helping his long-time friend, walked right past the buffet table and leaned on the back wall a short distance from Piccolo.

The two of them leaned there in silence for a prolonged moment before Piccolo asked, “This stupid party was your idea?”

The triclops shrugged his broad shoulders, looking across the room. Piccolo examined the profile of his face for a moment before looking out again. He was surprised when Tien spoke again, his voice soft and thoughtful, “It was Chiaotzu’s idea actually.”

Piccolo jolted slightly in shock, turning his head to look incredulously at the triclops. “Chiaotzu? That Chiaotzu? The one talking to Krillin? The one my father murdered!?”

The words had slipped from Piccolo’s mouth before he had realised they were forming. Tien flinched and crossed his arms a little tighter. They had not actually discussed the history between them before. He had some memories of his father’s that had been passed down to him in the former Demon King’s final moments. Most of them pertained to Goku, to their battles and Piccolo Daimao’s eventual defeat. But the memory of his return to youth had been there as well, the memory of the old man’s failed attempt to reseal him in the denshi jar, of the dragon, and of the small pale child who had leapt from safety in a last ditch effort to wish Piccolo Daimao from this world forever before a frantic burst of ki had caught him mid-word. Piccolo tried not to think of it, but the boy’s short agonised cry echoed in his head for a moment before he pushed it away forcefully. Piccolo was not his father. He was far more than simply a reincarnation of the evil half of Kami. He was…

“Yes, that Chiaotzu,” Tien said shortly. The small telepath on the other side of the room briefly glanced over his shoulder, grinning towards Tien. Piccolo wondered for a moment if Tien was ruminating on the first death of his friend. He had to have been there, though Piccolo Daimao’s memory did not contain him. The two were rarely apart, it seemed.

“Why?”

“You can ask him that yourself.” Tien shut his mouth as Chiaotzu finally managed to disengage himself from Krillin and make his way over. The wide grin on that small face softened and became shy as he blinked up at the Namekian.

“Hi, Piccolo,” he said, his voice high and soft and gentle. “I’m glad you came, even if they did force a surprise on you.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Piccolo said, his voice harsher than he had intended but the smile on the telepath’s face didn’t falter. “Gohan asked me so…”

He stopped abruptly, not willing to admit aloud that the young half-Saiyan had any power over him. Tien turned his head back and Chiaotzu’s smile widened ever so slightly.

“I got you a present,” the telepath said, and held up a small, shallow box.

“Why?”

“Because you’re one of us now. One of the redeemed.” Chiaotzu smiled widely and pushed the box forward slightly. “I’m sorry if it’s not quite right. It’s a joint effort between Tien, me and Gohan.”

“Gohan?” Piccolo took the box. It was tiny, sitting easily in the palm of one hand. He lifted the lid, looking blankly at the collection of dried leaves and flowers inside. “What is it?”

Now a flush rose in the telepath’s white cheeks and he cast a quick look at Tien. Again there was a brief spark between them, something that was almost tangible. The triclops had clearly offered no help because Chiaotzu turned back and shrugged his narrow shoulders.

“It’s tea. I know you don’t eat food but Gohan mentioned something about you drinking tea before and I thought this would…I don’t know…bring back some good memories maybe?”

Piccolo looked back down at the collection of dried leaves and flowers. He uncertainly brought the box to his nose and took a slow breath in, taking in the combined scent. His eyes clenched shut as vivid images of the Planet Namek filled his mind. He could see with perfect clarity the green water and the blue grass, the rows of carefully maintained Ajissa crops. He could see the two suns and the bright sky and the relieved smile on Gohan’s face as he had approached. He could see all these things and more, a lifetime of experience from not just his father’s long-forgotten childhood but also Nail, the Namekian he had fused with.

He opened his eyes and looked at Chiaotzu, aware that his gaze was sharp, almost accusatory. “You made this for me?”

“With Gohan’s help. I needed to know what the air smelt like and the water tasted like.” Chiaotzu put both hands behind his back, shrugging and rocking on the balls of his feet. “And Tien helped me find the ingredients…”

Piccolo was rendered speechless. That this small strange human could be that thoughtful, could consider a gift so genuine and then actually pull it off. It threw him slightly off-kilter.

“Thank you, Chiaotzu,” he said finally. “And…I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry,” Chiaotzu said, smiling widely. “The past is past, I don’t hold any grudges.”

Piccolo looked up and saw Gohan grinning at him from the other side of the room. He closed the small box and tucked it into the folds of his belt, making sure it was secure. He then surveyed the room around him. No one was watching him suspiciously or keeping an eye on his movements. No one seemed tensed or guarded. No one seemed to mind his presence. It was a strange feeling, something that was almost acceptance. Tolerance maybe?

He shook his head slowly, trying to get a grip on his own thoughts. The enormity of being even just tolerated by those who had once been his greatest enemies was almost overwhelming.

“We look out for our own,” Chiaotzu said, his high voice breaking through Piccolo’s concentration and bringing him back to the present. “We’re a team. We’re…friends…” Piccolo was vaguely aware that even Tien was smiling now, his usually stern features relaxed as he looked down at the telepath.

Piccolo didn’t quite smile, but his face softened and his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. He looked up again, meeting Gohan’s eyes. The boy was grinning slightly smugly, as though to say ‘I told you so’. Piccolo considered being annoyed, but decided that he would be grateful instead. He nodded at the boy, a gesture of thanks. He supposed it wasn’t such a terrible party after all.


End file.
